


Worship

by becca2793



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eren thinks a lot, Friends to Lovers, M/M, People worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becca2793/pseuds/becca2793
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“All he knows is that Armin is beautiful, and the feel of his cool skin is wonderful against Eren’s hot palms, and the sound of his breathing is the only thing that can tear him from his rage.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone always has Armin pine after Eren, but I wanted Eren to pine after Armin. This AU happened.

He huffs, flipping his hair out of his eyes and slouching in his chair. The library is dead silent, with the exception of pages being flipped and pencils scratching on paper, and he thinks, not for the first time that day, that this is probably the single most boring thing he could be doing on a Friday afternoon. He could be outside - playing baseball, drinking a soda, lying in the sun. Instead, he’s still at school, entertaining the thought of putting his head down on his arms and taking a nap.

Armin is across from him, eyes flicking across the page of whatever textbook he’s invested in, and Eren inwardly groans. It’s all his fault, really. If they weren’t best friends, if Armin wasn’t so damn cute and just as fucking manipulative and if Eren didn’t have to care so goddamn much, he wouldn’t be here. But here he is, keeping Mr. Smarty-Pants company. He’s pretty sure Armin doesn’t even realize he’s there anymore – he just gets so invested in his shit. Eren is almost jealous; his attention span is about as short as their French teacher.

“Hey,” he whispers, unsurprised when Armin doesn’t acknowledge him. “Armin,” he tries again, a little louder, waving a hand between Armin’s gaze and his book.

His blonde friend looks up at him, annoyed. “What?”

“Can you like, I don’t know, invite Mikasa next time or something?” And it’s honestly not that Eren doesn’t want to spend time with Armin, just that he doesn’t qualify this as ‘hanging out’. Armin has legitimately forgotten he was around before, jumping in fright when Eren touched his shoulder to get his attention. It makes him feel a tad unappreciated.

Armin gives him an unimpressed look. “Mikasa isn’t the one who needs to study.” Eren flinches a bit, and Armin leans forward a little to look at the open book in front of him. “You haven’t even turned the page since the last time I looked up.”

“The last time you looked up was like twenty minutes ago, Armin! I’m bored.” He leans forward, too, face inches from Armin’s and says, “Don’t make me suffer anymore.”

Armin raises an eyebrow at him, but the light pink dusting his cheeks betrays his expression.

Eren might be stupid, but he knows Armin. All he really has to do to get him to listen to him is lean in close and whisper, beg – it’s even better because he finds that there is no finer Armin than a blushing Armin. Something about close contact with others seems to set him off, and while he might be a rather terrible friend to sometimes exploit that, he doesn’t feel too bad about it. “Fine,” he grumbles, closing his thick textbook – Eren catches a glimpse of the title: American History (Armin doesn’t even take an American History class this semester) – and tucking his hair behind his ear.

Armin’s always complaining about his haircut, but he never changes it. Eren doesn’t mind. It suits him, honestly, and he finds that as it grows out, he starts to like it more. But, Armin is nothing if not predictable (to him, at least), so he’ll return to the salon soon for a trim. “Can we get ice cream on the way home?” Eren asks as he gathers his book and places it in his schoolbag.

“Sure,” Armin shrugs, buckling his messenger bag and letting it fall against his hip. His navy shirt rides up a little, and Eren does a damn good job of not letting his eyes wander to the newly visible sliver of skin. He doesn’t dwell on the prominent hip bones, the milky white expanse he knows to be under his outfit. He definitely doesn’t swallow harshly as Armin begins to walk away, and it’s definitely not because Armin wore those jeans today – the ones that perfectly shape his ass. “You coming?” Armin asks when he’s a few feet away, apparently realizing he’s not being followed.

Eren blinks, way too rapidly to be considered casual, and nods. “Yeah, duh – ice cream.”

Armin is supposed to be smart. He’s supposed to be perceptive. He should have noticed years ago how Eren has this terrible habit of watching him. Should have put two and two together like the genius he’s claimed to be. He knows he’s not subtle, either – Mikasa noticed before even he realized the way he felt (whatever it is), and Jean is constantly down his fucking throat about it, though he can begrudgingly admit that he knows Jean’s just fucking with him.

He’s not sure, honestly, what it all means. They’re closer than close; they never grew out of their hand-holding and cuddling from their childhood. Sleepovers are spent spooning (which leads to sometimes awkward boners on Eren’s part; Armin is a terribly light sleeper so angling his hips away from his friend’s ass without waking him is always a challenge) and more than once Armin has sobbed into the crook of Eren’s neck. When his parents died, they didn’t leave each others sides for nearly a month, and Eren took to intertwining their fingers together whenever Armin looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. It became habit, and now sometimes, without even realizing it, he’ll pick up on Armin’s anxiety and take his hand without a word.

He’s a heavier sleeper, but sometimes he finds himself awake late at night when they sleep together. Armin is always cold, and he shivers like a motherfucker when he’s in bed, so Eren more often than not wraps his arms around his smaller friend. The tremors leave, and Armin’s breathing turns soft, and when Eren presses his front to Armin’s back he’s overwhelmed by the smell of something sweet, but undeniably masculine – like caramel and cedar. It’s a combination that comes from his own natural scent and his body wash, Eren knows, because Eren knows everything one could possibly know about Armin. Everything from his favorite spot to read in the guest room to exactly how many times he’s seen the movie ‘The Road to El Dorado' (twenty-eight, because, as far as Eren can tell, he has this terrible man-crush on Tulio; Eren himself has seen it twelve of those twenty-eight times and each time Armin has had another comment to make about the inquisition, about the dreadfully small probability that El Dorado could even exist, about how Miguel and Tulio probably would have died in that small boat before they ever hit land). He knows his favorite bow tie, his favorite way to eat eggs, his favorite flavor of fucking Gatorade, and he thinks that somewhere along the way he should simmer down and back the fuck off, because this is more than more married couples know about each other.

Still, he relishes every new thing he learns, stores it like he should be storing algebraic equations, and files it away into one of the two very large cabinets he has in his head (The other belongs to Mikasa, because he knows her just as well as he knows Armin, but it’s totally different with her; his eyes don’t linger, his heart doesn’t pound, his dick doesn’t swell).

But Armin…

He supposes the only reason Armin hasn’t figured it out yet is just because he’s so focused on everything else. He stresses himself half to death, worrying about grades and the future, to the point where Eren’s almost convinced he’s never had a romantic inclination towards anyone (except Tulio). He doesn’t have time to be interested in anyone, too busy writing essays and looking up the internships he’d want to take part in when he reaches college.

That isn’t to say that Armin completely disregards him, because he doesn’t. He knows he’s an integral part of Armin’s life – days like this drive the thought home. They have an easy camaraderie, something that comes so naturally that Eren sometimes doesn’t even notice they’re not supposed to be so attached at the hip. He spends more waking hours with Armin than anyone else, and wouldn’t change that for the world. For years and years Eren’s spent entire weekends at Armin’s grandfather’s house, Armin’s spent countless holidays with his family, they ride the bus to school together and eat lunch together and study together (Armin studies, he sleeps).

Still, that inkling to be more taunts Eren. They’re borderline neurotic about each other as it is, so what’s the added hysteria of more? Though, he isn’t exactly sure of what ‘more’ means…

All he knows is that Armin is beautiful, and the feel of his cool skin is wonderful against Eren’s hot palms, and the sound of his breathing is the only thing that can tear him from his rage.

…

“What do you want?” Armin asks him once they reach the parlor, and Eren just gives him a look before Armin sighs and continues with, “You could switch it up someday, you know. “ He looks at the girl behind the counter and taps his chin with his finger. “Hm, two scoops of plain chocolate with gummy worms and a scoop of mint chocolate chip with caramel drizzle.”

Eren nearly salivates, imagining his gummy worms covered in chocolate, but brings himself to say, “Hey, you order the same thing every time, too.”

Armin laughs, and the sound is so light and wonderful Eren honestly believes he could live the rest of his life on it alone. “Touche.”

They get their ice cream and sit across from each other at their usual table, knees knocking together. When did that start, Eren asks himself. When did they get too large to fit at the table comfortably? They’ve been patrons of this parlor for years, and they’ve sat at this table for years, but then growth spurts kicked in and Eren’s legs are long and awkward, he feels. Five-foot-seven still isn’t necessarily tall, but he can’t help the feeling. Armin is still tiny, so small, but strong. In his mind and in his mouth, in the way he smiles and the way he looks at things.

When Armin eats his dessert, Eren pointedly doesn’t look at him. He does it on purpose, he thinks. He’s always been so cute that Eren couldn’t stand it, but with puberty came something else, something sensual and sexy and he’s so different now than he was. His fingers are long and soft to the touch – not rough like Eren’s, as they’re focused more on turning pages than catching footballs or punching faces or rock climbing at the gym; his hair is the color of sunflowers and lightly grazes his perfectly elegant neck, his waist is thin and his stomach softened by lack of exercise but still flat, his legs…god, his legs.

Eren frowns and looks at his ice cream before plucking a gummy word from the cup and unceremoniously dropping it into his mouth. “Classy,” Armin offers, smiling. “I’m glad Mikasa’s teaching you etiquette because I don’t think we could even take you into public otherwise.”

“Fuck you,” Eren returns, but without bite. He’s smiling, too widely, and his face hurts a little, but he can’t stop. He grabs his spoon and leans forward, scraping a bit of Armin’s ice cream onto it, and shoves it into his mouth.

“Tell me how you really feel,” Armin deadpans, but his eyes are laughing. They’re blue, too blue to be natural, the color of Forget-Me-Nots when he’s excited, happy, content – the color of sapphires when he’s sad, angry, aroused. He’s seen it, seen Armin’s pupils blown wide, felt his breath hot on his cheek, and though it had only been the awkward remnants of some dream he’d apparently been having (and they happened to be sharing a bed and Eren happened to be rather close and he happened to want a nice long shower that morning), it was something Eren cataloged so that he’d never forget it.

“Hmm, I feel like your sass is equal parts arousing and insulting.” It’s the truest thing he’s ever said.

Armin rolls his eyes, but flushes. “You’re ridiculous.” He takes another bite of his ice cream and stays silent for a moment. “Eren, are you…gay?”

Eren sputters, blinking wildly, fire-hot anxiety uncharacteristically pooling in his stomach. “What?” His eyes are wide, mouth dry – why ask that now? Why ask it in the middle of a semi-crowded ice cream parlor in the middle of the day?

Armin shrugs. “I’ve been wondering for years, and kept shrugging it off, but…” He only looks a little uncomfortable, and Eren thinks that’s unfair – to be even a little nonchalant about such a thing. The remnants of a blush are still evident at the tips of Armin’s ears, though. “Well it doesn’t really matter to me, whatever you are, so I didn’t say anything, but…” He bites his bottom lip, but it’s not out of trepidation or nervousness. It’s a gesture he makes when he’s curious. He does that when he’s reading a good book, gets to a part that intrigues him and baffles him, he does it when he’s watching a movie like Fight Club, with it’s back-and-forth ending, he does it when he’s wondering and thinking so quickly his lips can’t keep up, so he bites them to keep them still before he starts rambling.

“I don’t know,” Eren returns, in answer to his question. And that’s true. He doesn’t. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the way women look, because they’re beautiful – all soft curves and big eyes, but he’s never actually imagined himself involved with one on an emotional level. He’s always been too invested in his relationship with Mikasa and Armin to feel lonely, to feel like he needed to introduce someone else into his life. And…he’s never looked at them the way he looks at Armin, never thought things about them like he does about Armin. He finds himself inexplicably wanting more and things to stay the same at the same time – it’s selfish, he guesses, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still so unsure that it sometimes keeps him up at night. Before he can stop himself, he says: “What about you?”

He’s always had this little…voice in the back of his mind say that Armin might be. Not just from the way he carries himself, not just in regards to his extensive bow tie collection or the fact that he can sing every word to every song in El Dorado, not just in the way he blushes when Eren’s close or how tight he wears his jeans – because that doesn’t mean a goddamn thing and Eren knows it. It’s just a feeling. Because Eren knows Armin in more ways than he thought two people could. He isn’t perceptive in any regards other than Armin and Mikasa and even Mikasa can still manage to throw him off; Armin is an open book to him. Every time his lip trembles, his ankles cross, his eyebrows draw together - every action is a song to him, spelling out emotion…and maybe eyes aren’t the only window to the soul. His movement is a language all it’s own, and Eren worships it to the point where he feels himself going mad.

Armin finally answers, after a pause Eren hadn’t even realized had been very long. “Maybe,” his voice is small, but steady. “I’ve never really…” he runs his hand through his bangs. He’s getting flustered, mostly with himself. “It’s not supposed to matter, but…”

“Of course it matters,” Eren frowns. “ Why do you keep saying that? Why wouldn’t it matter?”

“Because…regardless of sexual orientation we’re still ‘Eren and Mikasa and Armin.’ Because you’re my best friend and Mikasa is my best friend and we three are a unit. Because…why should it matter?”

Eren thinks about that, tries to view it as a third-party observer. It shouldn’t, he guesses. And the only reason why he cares in the first place is because he’s so confused about his own feelings. Because he wants more, but he doesn’t know what more is and he’s afraid to ask, afraid to know, but he’s always been reckless and he’s always driven head-first into what he wants.

He stands, then, with a sense of urgency, and smiles at Armin brightly. “If you follow me, I’ll tell you.”

Armin blinks at him, bites his bottom lip, and nods. He grabs his ice cream cup and tosses it out as they leave the parlor.

…

Eren is sure Armin knows exactly where they’re going – to their sanctuary. Mikasa found it years ago, when they were still old enough to hold hands in public, the three of them, and adults would just smile at them fondly. They never left it.

It’s on the south end of the park, and he has to push aside tree branches and walk through mud to get there, but it’s so worth it. They walk carefully, avoiding stumps and roots and sticker bushes, and when they happen upon the old, abandoned, beaten down building, Eren smiles. It’s not at all as creepy as one might think, as the entire roof is gone and sunlight filters through the trees and onto the leaf-covered ground. The walls seem to still be crumbling and the pipes along the wall are rusted badly.

Eren sits down on an overturned tub from what must have been at least half a century ago, and looks up to the sky. He doesn’t speak for a long time, which even he knows is odd for him, and eventually Armin is too restless to ignore. He hops from one foot to the other, teeth still worrying his bottom lip, and fixes Eren with an imploring stare.

Not knowing is torture for Armin, and it’s worse when it’s so close for him but so hard to reach out for. People aren’t text. Armin’s not a psychic and he can’t just know what Eren’s going to say, and for the first time, Eren appreciates that. Armin can read the tension between them, can probably figure out something along the lines of what’s going to happen, but he can’t know the actual words. The words are something for Eren to tell him, and when Armin thinks about it in the future, he’ll hear Eren’s voice, see his face.

“So?” Armin finally asks, insistent. “You said you would tell me if we came here, so tell me.”

“But should I though?”

“Eren, you may be stronger than me but I am more clever and I will find a way to kill you and make it look like an accident out here.”

Eren chuckles, despite himself. “Why do you want to know so bad?”

Armin accosts him with a helpless look, breathless, and says, “You can’t be serious.” There is something weighted beneath his words that Eren can’t grasp.

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what?’”

“Wait, no, I…what?”

“Eren Jaeger.”

“Armin Arlert.”

“Tell me.”

“It seems suspicious that you want to know so bad now.”

“Badly. Besides, I’m always looking for answers! Tell me, dammit!”

“I don’t believe you!” Eren shakes his head, and there it is! Eren doesn’t know! He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know – he has to know.

“You don’t have to believe me, Eren! Just fucking-!” Armin throws his hands through his hair, letting out a sound of disgust. “Fine…fine, you stubborn bastard.” Eren can’t help but smile, can’t help but feel warmth blooming in his chest because Armin doesn’t talk like that to people, he just doesn’t. Eren is the only one, and it’s a stupid thing to feel special about, but it just means their level of comfort is fairly intense, that Armin is so close to Eren that he doesn’t feel he needs to have any niceties between them, that they can just be real and raw and honest. “I don’t want to know. I…don’t ever want knowledge, I need it – I crave it…and…when it comes to you…I know everything. I thought…I thought I did. I thought something like you being gay or not gay was irrelevant information. It was more important to know that your favorite movie is Fight Club and that, when I cooked you breakfast, you liked your eggs sunny-side up, and that your eyes are the exact shade of the Caribbean sea.” He stops himself, suddenly, as if realizing everything he’s said, and puts his face in his hands before groaning. “Ugh, I feel like a creep.”

Eren smiles, and he imagines he’ll never smile like this again, not so softly. Not while looking at anyone else. “I know, for a fact, that you are majorly crushing on Tulio from El Dorado.”

There’s a moment of silence between them before Armin starts to laugh, lowly at first, but then boisterous and loud. It’s not his light laughter from the parlor, not the laughter of excitement he gets when he learns something new, not the laughter he let’s go of at Mikasa’s deadpanned jokes. This is different. This is absolutely fucking beautiful and Eren wants to kiss him then. Can finally quantify what he wants because he needs that sound to become a part of him. Needs to swallow it and let it warm his insides. “What?” Armin asks, through the laughter. He gets it now, looking at Armin under the sunlight. It makes sense now, and he feels stupid for never realizing before.

Eren’s smile grows. “I know that you like the Orange flavored Gatorade but only when it peaks at ninety degrees outside and you think you need extra electrolytes to walk from your house to the bus. I know that you like to sit in the middle of the wall opposite the bay window in your guest bedroom when you read, but only if it’s before sunset because you never read at sunset; once you told me that every one is different and sometimes the colors change and you didn’t wanna miss it when it became something new. I know you try to mask how sweet you smell with super masculine body wash, but it only ends up creating this weirdly amazing combination. I know you want to keep learning, always learning, always seeing, always taking things in, and its never enough for you and that’s perfect – you’re perfect Armin, and goddammit, you’re gonna make me say it first you motherfucker, aren’t you?”

He stands from the tub and takes three long strides to reach Armin. He’s impossibly close, so close their chests touch and Armin has to crane his neck up to look at him and he can feel hot breath on his neck and he powers through the arousal to say, “I love you. That’s why it matters, Armin. Because I have to know this is okay. Because I have to know it’s alright to ask you to kiss me. Because I didn’t know all that I wanted, but I knew it had everything to do with you.”

Armin blinks up at him, and Eren finds something else new. Find a new expression, one he’d never seen before and – I’m learning, I’m still learning, there’s still so much, I’m not even done finding out how beautiful you are. “That’s funny,” he says, voice tight with emotion. “Because I’ve spent every minute of every day wondering how to say the exact same thing.” He pauses, inhaling, but his eyes never leave Eren’s. So blue, so fucking blue, but a different blue, a blue like the ocean. “I tried…I kept telling myself I was over-thinking things. Kept telling myself it wasn’t real and that I was projecting and that it didn’t matter, but it did, it always did. When you would look at me and I could see your eyes turn four different shades of green all in the span of a minute and I would realize we’ve just been looking at each other and – what does that mean? Do people do that? Do they just look at each other?” He’s rambling now, and this is exactly why he bites his lip, Eren knows, but he doesn’t say anything because he’s too happy and Armin is too cute like this and he doesn’t want him to stop talking, doesn’t want him to stop telling him that he’s wanted. “Of course they don’t, but you’re different, Eren. You’ve always been different and maybe that’s all it was. Maybe you were just weird.” He’s really trying to pay attention, honestly, but Armin keeps licking his lips to keep them from going dry in the heat and all he wants to do is draw Armin to him and kiss him until he forgets how to breathe. “But I couldn’t do it anymore, I couldn’t not know anymore. I told myself it didn’t matter, that it was more intellectual interest than emotional, but-”

“Armin, sorry, and I love listening to you talk, but shut up,” Eren beams, and surges forward to kiss him. Armin’s response is instant – there’s not a second wasted between them, and even though it’s not exactly synched and their noses bump and Eren can’t seem to get his lungs to work right, it’s perfection. He feels pleasantly warm everywhere and this is just another thing that seems so natural, seems so right. This is leaning into Armin when he’s upset, this is holding his hand in the dead of night when its dark and they’ve exchanged insecurities, this is waking up and their foreheads are pressed together and his eyes open to find Armin awake and just lying there, not moving.

This is everything.

When they pull apart, panting slightly, Eren immediately goes in to kiss Armin again, but the boy just laughs and holds a hand up to his mouth. “Let me catch my breath,” he whispers, voice raw. So Eren settles for just looking at him, and there’s no word around, in any language, to sum up his feelings. Adoration, love, possessiveness, fear, wonder, excitement, arousal. He is so many things when he looks at Armin and he wonders if maybe this is too far, maybe he cares too much, maybe he’s obsessed. He feels like worshiping every inch of Armin’s body, to have him sigh beneath him, to have him whisper secrets in the dark. “Okay, better,” Armin nods, and he leans up to catch Eren’s lips with his own.

Tears, Eren thinks, are falling down his face, but he continues to kiss, to move his lips, to press his tongue to teeth and to feel nails dig into his arms. To taste Armin, to smell him, to feel him tremble under his touch. Of course he’s crying. Of course, because it’s the only way to release the pressure inside of him, and second by second everything melts away. Of course, because people cry when they encounter beauty.

“It’s raining,” Armin whispers when they pull away again.

“Armin,” he whispers, weakly, hand caressing a pale, smooth cheek. “Armin, I don’t know what to do, I’m so happy.”

“Yeah,” Armin nods. “Me too. I love you, you know that right? I’ve said it a million times before and I always meant it, and I mean it now, and I’ll mean it every time I say it in the future. I love you.”

And there is no doubt, when he kisses Armin again, that it’s sobs that wrack his chest and his hands scramble to pull Armin into him, so they can never be apart. What is closer than closer than close? Can they achieve it? Can they throw away these physical forms and just exist in each other? He doesn’t want anything else.

He moves to kiss Armin’s cheek, his eyelids, his forehead, his ear his throat his hair hisnosehisfingershischinhisneckhismouthhisjaw. He kisses him until he feels soaked through from the rain and then grabs his hand and drags him from their sanctuary, back into reality, and he’s beyond pleased to feel that nothing has changed.

He brings him back to his house, to his room, towels off his hair, strips him of his wet clothes, and loves him. Slowly and wholly devours him alive. They’re impossibly close, and he’s found it, he’s found that perfect connect, that way to feel like one person, that way to know that this is real. Armin’s heartbeat pounds in Eren’s chest, Armin swallows Eren’s love and keeps it in the place his heart was, and when they collapse at the end in a tangled mess of limbs Armin laughs again, laughs like it’s the only sound he’s ever known how to make.

And Eren worships him.


End file.
